


your peace and your serenity

by unrequited_heartbreak



Category: DreamSMP
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Realistic Minecraft, Angst, Blood, Character Death, Character Study, Death, DreamSMP - Freeform, Friendship, Gen, Heavy Angst, Major Character Injury, POV Second Person, l'manberg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrequited_heartbreak/pseuds/unrequited_heartbreak
Summary: Tubbo watches in wonder as the world crumbles, and Tommy mourns something that hasn't happened yet.Don't be scared away by the second person tag, this isn't a reader insert!
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 49
Kudos: 324





	your peace and your serenity

**Author's Note:**

> I was messing around with second person pov today and this ended up being more... polished? finished? than I was expecting, so I've decided to post it! The "you" is referring to Tubbo, it isn't a self insert of the reader. It's sort of like the reader seeing through Tubbo's eyes I guess? It'll make sense when you read it, I think. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :D

Another breath crashes over you like a wave. 

He’s hovering close by, nearly vibrating with the urge to touch you, run for help, do anything. The silence traps him. It quells the urge to move but not the panic that hums in his chest, head, throat. His hands are shaking, lips parted. His heartbeats hit on the offbeats of yours.

The sky is bright in a way you didn’t know grey could be, nearly ethereal. It’s static and blank; it looks almost fake, like someone green screened it away. Like the simulation glitched a texture out of existence. It paints neutral, diffused light over both of you, darkening your eyes and shifting the shape of your cheeks just a bit. It’s beautiful. 

The grass is crisp and dry, the wind whistles through towering pines and carries strands of hair away from your forehead. There are tears on your face, you realize distantly, and there’s blood on your chest. It’s sticky on your fingers, drying nearly black. Cool air turns the moisture ice cold. You shiver despite your layers and layers of clothing, dyed red and green by blood and grass. 

It’s nonchalant, almost. Anticlimactic. There’s just you and him, the pines swaying in the wind, and the numb, floaty feeling fluttering in your chest. You watch as time ticks by, scenes change, lenses flare. You breathe. The air is crisp and there's a stone under your back pressing into your spine, but there’s peace in the discomfort, like you’re floating above it all, serene and ready. 

A cough worms out of your throat, splattering scarlet onto two sets of shaking hands. It seems to break him out of his stupor. He finally turns to you and scoops your head up gently, after years, seconds, ages. A sharp bolt of pain shoots through you at the motion. You hiss, and his face twists. 

“You can’t die on me, okay? You can’t, I can’t- I can’t handle that,” he manages, soft and shaky and more terrified than you’ve ever seen him. Will ever see him. You’ll never see him again, after this moment, and despite your peace and serenity your chest pangs. His hair is falling into his eyes, he blinks at it. It’s been a while since it was last cut. His brows are creased, twisted up into knots. 

This version of him is the last you’ll ever see. Blood on gold buttons and sweat on upper lips and blue eyes crinkled.

“I don’t think it’s up to me,” you reply simply. You cough again, and he flinches more than you do. 

It’s the truth, you both know that. You have no control. You can only watch and wait.

So you do, and you die, slowly, and you’re not sure if you mind all that much about it. You have unfinished projects but other people can finish them. There are so many things to do but is it all that bad if you don’t end up doing them? Maybe you just can’t let yourself mind. It would probably tear you apart at the seams, to care when there is no way to fix anything. The puzzle is missing its pieces, you can’t even search for them. You have to shrug and move on. Is that a thing brains can do? Block out thoughts because they would implode otherwise? 

He’s whispering again, suddenly, and your eyes blink open. 

“Just, god- please don’t leave me, please, please, please-“ He repeats it like a mantra, a prayer, as if someone is listening to grant his wishes. It’s not meant for you, not really, even though it’s worded like it is. Wasted time, wasted breath. You bring your hand up, the one that isn’t bloodied, and press your finger against his lips. 

“Just talk to me while I’m here, okay?” You don’t know when you started comforting him instead of the other way around, but it doesn’t frustrate you. You have your peace and serenity, he has two handfuls of your coat and a future without you. He’s shaking like a leaf. He lets out a sob and you grip his hands tightly.

“Hey, don’t cry-” There’s blood on your back now, chafing wet fabric against skin. Your fingertips and toes are numb. “Just talk to me, Toms, talk to me about something.”

Another breath, and then he begins. 

The world becomes more blurry around you, the air becomes colder and sharper and harder to breathe, but you hardly notice anymore. He tells you about his fishing trip yesterday, and how Wilbur has been planning a building project recently but he’s been keeping it very hush hush so Dream doesn’t find out. 

“A giant L’Manberg flag,” he says, and doesn’t bother to smile, “We’re gonna need so much wool.”

You don’t mention the tears or the shaking of his shoulders or the way his voice cuts out sometimes. He doesn’t mention it either. He is trying, so hard, to stay calm for you. This moment is so, so precious and you both know it, he shakes because he can’t let himself fuck it up. You tell him that there’s no way he can. You can’t summon the words, but you say it in your gaze and the way you hold his hands tightly until your knuckles are white. He pushes forward.

He talks about how Fundy is helping him rebuild his house, with Sapnap, surprisingly. He talks about getting cornered by zombies in the tree farm a few nights ago. He talks about name tags and melon seeds and gold, about redstone and tripwire hooks and mossy cobble, about prismarine shards and wet sponge and limbs feeling like lead. He talks about adventure, and domesticity. And finally, he talks about you.

It’s nearly overwhelming, the sudden praise. You two aren’t like that, normally, he makes fun of you more than anything and genuine compliments are always lightened with a laugh. His care sits quiet in the way his face drops when you leave to work on something, the way he grips your arm tight tight tight when you’re in danger. But now it is bubbling and sputtering from a crack in the stone, rising over your head and drowning you. He is eloquent, sometimes. But now his words are painfully simple. 

“You’re my best friend, I think,” He says, and you smile weakly in return. “Out of everyone. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”

Breathing is harder now, talking seems impossible. His words are garbled and it takes you a few seconds to pick them apart. 

“I love you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t say it enough, I’m sorry, I love you, I’m so so so sorry-”

“Me too,” you croak, and you have your peace and serenity, but there’s an ache deep in your gut and an itch at the back of your throat. 

It’s bizarre, to miss someone when they are sitting right in front of you. 

You’re so cold. His hands and breath are molten glass. 

Everything is out of focus, the world spins, the pines dance above you. 

He lets out one last sob. You take in the smudge of dark blue and blonde one last time.

You have your peace, your serenity, you have the way that your brain has made it so you don’t mind. You have his hands in your hands. 

And then you have nothing at all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [even the weariest river](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27836245) by [like_theletter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/like_theletter/pseuds/like_theletter)




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